Chapter 2
Netherfield
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had retreated upstairs to ready themselves for the ball—an endeavour so elaborate it would occupy them all afternoon, with maids shuttling buckets of steaming water up from the kitchen for their baths.
Bingley had vanished into his study, and Darcy sat alone in the day parlour, once again gripped by a familiar boredom.
There was still time to slip away—perhaps not as far as London, but Watford might do.
Yes, a timely escape, before anyone in the house could talk him out of it.
“Darcy, you old grouch!” The door burst open, and there stood his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
“Good God, Richard! What are you doing here? I thought you were still on the Peninsula,” Darcy exclaimed, rising sharply, caught off guard.
“War business, I’m afraid: wringing more men, supplies, and—most importantly—money from a particularly stingy Lord Liverpool.
I’ve spent the last week haunting the halls of Whitehall.
I swear, I could navigate the place with my eyes shut.
Lord Wellington recommended we take some leave.
Frankly, I’d rather face French cannon than the bureaucrats in Horse Guards. ”
“But why here? Couldn’t you have spent your respite with the Earl and Countess?”
“They’ve retreated to Matlock,” the Colonel explained. “I thought I’d call on my favourite cousin—though I must say, it’s very quiet. Where is everyone?”
“You’ve arrived in time for the grand entertainment: Bingley’s hosting a ball this evening. His sisters are upstairs, busy with their preparations.” Darcy rang the bell for refreshments. “I didn’t hear a coach. Did you ride in from London this morning?”
“A bit later than I intended, but Garret—you remember my batman? We had an easy journey. Found some decent horseflesh in the earl’s stables; they needed a good run.
Not quite Apollo’s calibre, but he’s still in Lisbon.
” Richard grinned. “By the way, your last letter—which I managed to intercept in London before it could go on a grand tour of Europe—mentioned a lady. Has the famously unapproachable Darcy finally met his match?”
Darcy hesitated. With Richard, pretence was impossible—they understood each other almost as well as twin brothers. “It’s nothing. A fleeting infatuation, that’s all. There’s not much society here—certainly nothing refined. She just stood out against the rest. Attractive, clever, dances well…”
At that moment, Darcy’s valet, Evans, appeared in the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir. You asked to see me—shall I prepare your things for departure?”
Darcy shifted in his seat, caught out. Evans knew his moods better than Darcy himself. “Not just now, Evans. As you see, the Colonel has come. It’s best to stay. Would you lay out my clothes for the ball, please? The blue waistcoat—do you agree?”
Evans allowed a small smile, nodding to the Colonel before slipping out, well satisfied that the blue was perfect for the evening’s festivities.
“Oh, Darce! Running away?” Richard chuckled. “Of course, I’d forgotten Miss Bingley is here. Lucky for me I’m only a second son with no inheritance—otherwise she’d have her sights set on me, not just the earl’s nephew.”
“You may laugh, but you’ve never had to deal with her, Richard,” Darcy replied.
“She seldom lets up; follows me everywhere. Just last night, while I was writing to Georgiana, Miss Bingley kept praising my neat handwriting and the length of my letter. She wouldn’t stop—offered to mend my pen, started talking about her table-painting plans for Georgiana, as if my sister would care.
She can’t take the hint, and Bingley’s no help—all he does is grin, just like you’re doing now. It’s maddening!”
The Colonel’s eyes gleamed with amusement.
“But I suspect there’s more to it. You’re not just avoiding Miss Bingley—you’re running from that infatuation of yours.
In your letter, you hinted that the lady’s family is, shall we say, less than proper?
Tainted by trade, I believe you put it. Yet, she’s clearly made quite an impression.
I’m eager to make the acquaintance of this paragon. She’ll be at the ball, I assume?”
“They’re the leading family here, for all their lack of propriety.
They’ll certainly be present. Nevertheless, the two older daughters are elegant and graceful—there is nothing at all wanting in them.
Bingley, I think, is quite enamoured with the eldest. The youngest is little more than a child—barely educated, shouldn’t be out.
Their mother, a solicitor’s daughter from Meryton, seems to make it her mission to throw her daughters at any eligible man, never mind his fortune. ”
Richard watched his cousin’s discomfort with delight; a rare experience.
“Well, it’s much the same as in Town, only with fewer pretences, perhaps.
At least here the matchmaking is straightforward.
In London, mothers would just as soon arrange a compromise as have their daughters simply dance with you.
” He glanced toward the mantel clock. “I’d better see to my regimentals—and you’d best smarten up, too.
The blue will do nicely, especially if it happens to match a certain young lady’s dress.
How does Evans always know these things?
Shame he doesn’t speak French—he’d be invaluable for unearthing Napoleon’s secrets. ”
* * *
As Elizabeth, wearing her blue silk gown—a gift from her Aunt Gardiner—entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, she saw there were only two other families yet present: the Gouldings and the Longs. William Goulding, a young man of about twenty years, approached.
“My apologies, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “Would it be possible to have a word with you, perhaps later in the evening?”
She sighed. Already she was being sought after, and only two minutes in the house.
There was little she could do but accept her situation.
It was rare that the four and twenty families of the neighbourhood would be gathered in one place, and a ball was, in many respects, a place where a man and a woman, with propriety, could converse with some privacy—either during a set or by the refreshment table.
“Perhaps, Mr. Goulding, you will excuse my forwardness,” she replied gently. “My second set is free…”
He looked at her with gratitude. “Oh, of course, so silly of me. Miss Elizabeth, may I have the pleasure of the second set?”
She smiled. “Certainly, I look forward to it.”
He bowed, then made his way back to his family. Mrs. Goulding spoke a few words with him, then nodded to Elizabeth in acknowledgement. She hung back, watching Mrs. Bennet and her younger sisters excitedly enter the ballroom.
“Ah, Lizzy, already in demand I see,” said Mr. Bennet, who had come to stand next to her. “If you wish, I could put out the word that you only wish to dance occasionally. Then you could refuse without giving offence, and still dance later in the evening.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She leant up and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.
“But this is my place in the world. They are good people, and make few demands on me.
Oh, I forgot to tell you. Before the rains, I visited Mr. Malleson, who holds the forty by the river.
His cow, Hyacinth, dropped a fine bull calf.
‘Twas lucky I came by, for the cow had gone off, nowhere to be found. I saw her, if you take my meaning, by the pollarded copse. She was in great distress, though the calf was not her first—Mr. Malleson pulled it without difficulty.”
“Excellent, Lizzy, you always bring good fortune,” said Mr. Bennet.
“There will be great interest in the calf—we paid five and twenty guineas for servicing Hyacinth with that prize Suffolk bull from Cashiobury Park. I must write to Lord Essex with the good news. Now, off you go and enjoy yourself. I know your first two sets are taken, but would you reserve a later one for your ageing father?”
The drawing-room began to fill up, and she felt the pressure of people clustered in close proximity push against her.
Elizabeth made her way into the ballroom and sought some space by the refreshment table.
Perhaps a half hour later, the musicians began to tune their instruments, signalling that the first set was about to begin.
“Miss Elizabeth, I believe this is our dance.” Mr. Collins held out his hand and led her onto the dance floor.
As she walked with him, her eyes sought Charlotte Lucas, her good friend from Lucas Lodge, just a mile from Longbourn.
Charlotte was a sensible, intelligent, but plain-looking woman, deserving of a good husband; but with the ongoing war against the tyrant, there was a dearth of eligible gentlemen in the vicinity.
Her father, Sir William, was a wealthy former merchant who had been raised to a knighthood after an address to the King when mayor of Meryton.
Having formed a high opinion of himself, he sold his former business and moved to Lucas Lodge to occupy himself with being civil to everyone.
The estate was small and, having a large family, he could ill-afford any dowry for his daughters.
Unreasonably, in Elizabeth’s view, Charlotte was destined for genteel spinsterhood.
The two dances with Mr. Collins could not be spoilt by his lack of skill, for his enthusiasm and attention to her more than compensated Elizabeth for what otherwise would have been dances of mortification.
Being of heavy build and the dances rather energetic, he was quite overheated when Elizabeth let him lead her to the refreshment table where Charlotte was standing with Lady Lucas.
She introduced Mr. Collins to the ladies.
As she did so, she caught Charlotte’s eye.
Her friend stared at her for a moment; then, eyes wide, appraised Mr. Collins as though she were purchasing a suckling pig at the market.